


A Quiet Night

by atari_writes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Sappy, fluffy nonsense, frank likes his hair played with, so much cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:31:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14281047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atari_writes/pseuds/atari_writes
Summary: Just some fluffy cuddling with Frank





	A Quiet Night

You were incredibly, absolutely, ridiculously comfortable. You honestly couldn’t believe it. There were two pillows piled against the arm of the couch, supporting your back and neck in the perfect position to read your very thick, very perfect book. The rain was pounding on the window and fire escape, accented with rolls of loud thunder, and you had absolutely no idea where your phone was; you’d never been more relaxed in your life. 

Max’s body was wedged between yours and the back of the couch, and his cute little face was smooshed underneath your back. Frank’s flannel was the perfect size to be comfortable, but not in the way, and your fuzzy socks kept your toes warm and your legs bare. It was perfect. The only thing missing was your boyfriend.

Despite the rain, he’s insisted that he had some necessary work to get done. You didn’t understand why he’d wanna go get soaking wet instead of cuddle with his gorgeous, half-naked girlfriend, but that was his (stupid) decision.

Your hand scratches absently at the space at the top of Max’s head, making him lift his head to search for your nails every time you reached up to turn the page. After a while, you reach a tense point in the book, and your hand rests on the corner of the book, anticipating the flip of the page. Max makes an unhappy noise and rests his big head on your stomach. You smile and make a kissy face at him, then go back to your absorbing book. Max exhales again, making an even louder whine. You laugh and prop your book open on your chest, giving Max your full attention. 

“What is it, you spoiled thing? You want some more lovin’?” You coo, using your free hands to scratch behind his ears. “Are you a good puppy, Max?” His tail thumps against the back of the couch and his tongue falls out of his mouth, making you laugh. 

At that exact moment, a key turns in the lock of the door. Max’s ears perk up, and he turns with you to look over the back of the couch to watch the old door of your apartment creak open, revealing a sopping wet Frank.

You laugh and Max scrambles off of you to go greet his dad. Frank slams the door shut behind him and locks it, then sighs.

“Is it still raining?” You ask innocently.

Frank glares at you and tries to be mad that you’re gloating, but you look so cozy and soft and your face is almost glowing and he’s suddenly kicking himself for going out when he could have been warm and cozy here with his girl.

He drops his big bag o’ guns and sheds his wet coat and muddy boots, keeping his eyes on you the whole time. Your smile slips when he starts stalking towards you, still in his soaking wet pants and shirt.

“Frank—Wait, Frank no—“ he crosses the distance in three big steps, face breaking into a grin as he reaches the back of the couch and rolls over the back of it, landing in your lap with a wet smack.

You shriek and try to get your book and body—mostly your book—out of the way of your wet boyfriend, but he spreads out on top of you, pushing his wet head into your neck.

“Frank! You’re such an ass!”

He laughs, low and rumbly, and you toss your book onto the floor to get full maneuverability of your hands in order to get him off.

“Get off!” You wiggle underneath his heavy body, trying to dislodge him, but you’re laughing too much at his ridiculous behavior to be strong enough to push him away. Max is running back in forth in front of the couch, barking and wagging his tail, excited to be playing.

You feel the water from his hair and clothes slowly seeping into your flannel and exposed skin, and you slap at Frank’s back weakly, out of breath from the struggle. “You’re such an ass, Francis.”

He laugh softly and pushes his nose into your neck, kissing your skin sweetly. “Don’t laugh at me next time.”

You groan. “Fine! Just get off of me!” You push at his shoulders again, and this time he rolls off of you, giving Max a few pats on the head. 

You sigh and lean back into the couch. “And I was so warm and comfy.”

Frank looks at your now damp flannel and your cozy setup and feels a tinge of guilt. “Sorry, baby girl.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine.” You reach over and grab your book, readjusting to get comfortable again. “Just take off your wet clothes and come back in somethin’ dry.”

He grins and bends over, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Sure thing, baby,” he murmurs against your skin. Max follows him back to the bedroom, and you sigh, trying to get back into your previous position. 

Frank comes back out a few minutes later in just a pair of dry boxers, and you’re already reabsorbed in your book. He runs the towel over his hair again, then tosses it on the floor and crawls onto the couch up your body, squeezing his legs between yours until you spread them, making room for his waist to settle between your thighs.

He nudges your book out of the way with his head, and you don’t say anything, just lift the book with one hand, eyes still on the page, and use the other to lightly guide his head to rest on your soft chest. He sighs and wraps an arm around your waist, snaking underneath to squeeze between you and the couch cushion. His other arm hangs off the side of the couch, and Max trots back in, immediately lying next to the couch and shifting until Frank’s hand was resting on top of his head. He rolls his eyes and gives the dog a few scratches and pats. 

Frank lays there, head cushioned by your soft breasts, your warm legs on either side of him, and he can feel one of your fuzzy socks slowly running up and down his bare calf. He sighs, suddenly overcome with just how comfortable and safe he felt in your arms. After a minute of lying there peacefully, staring out the window and watching the rain hit the fire escape, he feels your fingers moving up from his shoulders. He holds his breath as your nails scratch from the buzzed hairs at the base of his skull, up until your fingers are buried in the longer, barely curling strands on top of his head. 

He inhales sharply, and barely contains a groan when you start to play with his curls, running your fingers through them and tugging lightly on the ends. He tilts his head up to see if you know what you’re doing, but you’re lost in your book; your elbow is planted in the couch, propping the book open between your fingers, and your gaze is so focused on the words that he doubts you even know what’s going on around you. Every minute or so, your hand leaves his hair to turn the page, and even though he knows it’s coming, every time he almost whines at the loss. 

Eventually, the rhythmic petting has him drifting off, his fatigue catching up with him. He’d been going nonstop for almost three days now, chasing some new big player, and he’d barely had time to stop in for coffee and power naps. And lying here, in your arms, he suddenly didn’t know why he would ever want to be anywhere else at all.

Your nails eventually add to the rhythmic motions of your hand, and this time he can’t help the groan that slips out. He shifts his head just a bit, and presses a soft kiss to your stomach.

“I love you, baby girl.” His words are half slurred with sleep, and you smile as he settles back onto your chest.

“I love you too, Frankie.” You tangle your fingers back in his hair and watch as his eyes flutter shut, and he slips into sleep. You lean down and press a soft kiss into his hair. “I love you, too.”


End file.
